


Muse - I'm yours, you're mine

by VanitasCrow



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Coffee Shops, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Hannibal Lecter, My First AO3 Post, My First Work in This Fandom, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Stabbing, Stalking, Tags Are Hard, Unhealthy Relationships, Violent Thoughts, Work In Progress, Writer Will Graham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28835901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanitasCrow/pseuds/VanitasCrow
Summary: Will Graham is a dedicated crime author lacking inspiration. An irritating stranger named Hannibal Lecter might be the solution. Both of them inspire each other, while Hannibal follows his own intentions.“I want you to close your eyes, Will. Imagine it, taking someone’s life. What would you like to happen? It’s all in your head, everything is possible.”With Hannibal, weird was the ordinary. Weird was also an understatement.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	1. The smell of coffee and weird encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this story. It's the first fanfiction I've ever published. Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language.

The streets of Wolf Trap were bustling with life. People were out shopping, talking, trying their best to make the most of the last warm sunrays summer had to offer while the leaves around them were slowly turning red and brown. Will hurried down a road that was particularly crowded. Keeping his head low, adjusting his glasses from time to time and holding his notepad and pencil case close to his body. He wanted to draw as little attention as possible to himself. He was avoiding strangers, possible conversations and even their gazes. He often didn’t quite know how to react to people and they in turn found him weird and didn’t understand him. Conversations were… difficult. He just wasn’t good with humans, at least that was what he always told himself.

The only place that could offer him some comfort was a small, old coffee shop a few minutes away from his shabby apartment. Not many people went there. More modern shops had opened all over Wolf Trap and its citizens preferred the lighter atmosphere and newer music over dark and heavy wooden tables and music from the 80s and 90s. But it was this extraordinary ambiance that would always draw the unsocial man back onto the streets. His personal haven.

The ringing bell on top of the coffee shop’s door invited Will inside. He quickly went to his usual spot, a small table with two chairs, placed in a corner of the room. From here one could oversee almost every other table. He took off his glasses that were sitting too low, another method of protecting himself from too much eye contact, and sighed while sliding down the back of the chair. In here he finally felt free.

Will was often caught up in his own mind. When he was not thinking about his lack of social skills and the anxiety that came along with it, he was pondering over new ideas for his books. He was a writer, his old-fashioned notepad and pens always by his side. But even these thoughts were not that… tasty. His stories were always about criminals and scenes full of blood and screams of agony. This interest, others would call it an obsession, began when he was a child. Little Will would sneak up on his father, who had watched dozens of documentaries about criminals, and see all the gruesome acts humanity was capable of. The way these killers thought and what their motifs were always stuck with the writer. He could emphasize with them on some level. It was easy for him in general. Assuming another point of view.

But not today. Today was one of these days where the spark of inspiration had left him. He couldn’t imagine why and how his killer killed. He wasn’t capable of seeing him correctly. What he looked like, what his story was, what his ultimate goal was, if there even was one to begin with. Normally these thoughts and ideas would form in his head like it was his second nature. But not today.

Will’s brows furrowed with frustration and he pressed the pen hard against the paper. After what seemed like an eternity his eyes left the empty page and roamed around the shop. Only a few people were here, as always. His gaze continued to wander around when he suddenly noticed a man staring at him. He sat a few meters away, diagonally from Will’s place. His eyes, which appeared almost black from this distance, bored holes into his skull and Will felt eerily vulnerable. He quickly averted his gaze and looked back onto the blank page underneath him. He hoped that staring at the grey lines would make the chill he felt deep inside him subside but to no avail. After a few moments of fidgeting with his pen he dared to slowly lift his eyes a bit to once again look at the stranger. This time he was drawing something and didn’t seem to notice Will’s nervous look.

Will took the chance to better observe the man. He was a bit older, maybe around his late 40s or early 50s. He had prominent cheekbones and his greyish brown hair was neatly combed. He looked foreign even though Will couldn’t quite make out where exactly the man could be from. Together with the dark blue three-piece suit and reddish tie he seemed almost too well kempt to fit in with society. Too perfect to be normal as if he was trying too hard to keep up appearance. It would fool those who don’t overthink and analyze everything but Will wasn’t one of those fools.

The brunette shook his head lightly to banish these thoughts from his mind. He didn’t want to mindlessly judge a stranger based on his already fucked up imagination. But he could definitely work with these ideas. Without another thought he began writing down everything his mind could dream up. 

His killer: An older man who had just passed the prime of his life. Not yet old enough to have lost the energy that was still inside him. He was from Europe. Maybe from Croatia or Greece… Cunning and perfect at hiding his ugly true self behind a well-tailored “person suit”. People liked him and trusted him far too easily. Always polite and never self-serving. No one would suspect the storm that he withholds from everybody else. Only his victims got to see who he really was.

Will stopped and took a moment to reread everything he just wrote down. The sound of the pen knocking against the notepad was the only thing that kept him in the present. His thoughts were running wild. Many horrifying scenes appeared inside his head but nothing seemed to match the description of the man he imagined. 

“How do you kill? Why do you take lives?”, he murmured while feeling how his mind was slowly drowning out his surroundings. Mangled bodies, ripped out throats, severed limbs, mouths covered in blood and sewn shut so that their atrocious and miserable voices will never be heard again. All of them didn’t deserve to live anyways. They were not worth it. Bloody tidal waves crashed down inside his head and made him dizzy, his imagination feeling too realistic. These scenes were… okay. Will still didn’t feel completely convinced by it all. He felt so unsatisfied. These acts of brutality were too raw to fit his antagonist. They lacked a certain… pleasing aesthetic. 

Will tried to distract himself with ordering coffee. He knew that today would be full of dissatisfaction. Once his mind gave up on him and didn’t serve him any good ideas only an unhealthy amount of coffee could keep him focused and kind of productive. After an hour of going over the same thoughts time and time again and almost three empty cups of black coffee he finally had enough. The piercing sting of a headache pulled him back into the coffee shop. He rubbed his temples in annoyance and groaned while searching for his Aspirin. To his dismay he only found an empty pill container inside the pockets of his jacket. He sighed, feeling defeated, leaned forward and supported his head with his hands. What a great fucking day this was… 

He now stared into space with glassy eyes and let his vision become blurry and his mind dizzy. He could take it. He was used to it. After some minutes, which to him seemed like hours, of stewing inside self-pity and physical pain, he realized a shadow looming over him. He halfheartedly tried to focus on it and recognized the face of the man before him as well as the rustling sound coming from his hand. It was the stranger that had creepily stared at him. His extended hand presented a full box full of pills to Will. A kind and subtle gesture for him to take one or two. Will quickly put on his glasses again. He felt safer with them. A border between him and all unwanted aspects of reality that could possibly hurt him.

“It’s Aspirin. You can take some if you want.”

He was taken aback by his accent and deep voice. He was definitely foreign and maybe from Europe but Will still couldn’t pinpoint the exact country. He dismissed this train of thoughts and took the small box from his hand to finally get the alleviation he yearned for.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. I always have some with me. Do you regularly struggle with headaches? You seem to be in quite a lot of pain.”

Will sighed and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes in annoyance. He didn’t plan to have any deeper conversations or any kind of small talk for that matter. It would have been better to just answer with a small yes and show annoyance to get rid of this man as soon as possible. He irritated Will. He was breaching boundaries that not only him but also the rest of society would find normal to be left untouched. But here he was, being asked about his physical condition by a stranger.

“Yes. Sometimes I do. You get used to it.”

Not one muscle of the foreigner’s face moved but Will could see understanding in his eyes. Will handed him his Aspirin, which he quickly slid into his pocket, and tried to find a more interesting spot to look at other than those piercing maroon eyes. He felt like an animal trapped in a corner with no apparent way out. Relief washed over him as the interested gaze of the unknown man shifted and was instead fixated on Will’s now not so empty page.

“You’re a writer.”

There were no emotions in his voice. It was a statement and it was Will’s duty to confirm or deny it. As his eyes were slowly following the steady gaze to his notebook, he realized that his handwriting was a complete mess. He felt how underneath his skin he was burning with shame and how anxiety was slowly creeping up on him again. He was able to read it just fine and under normal circumstances no one was supposed to even see his notes but the man before him was different and intruded his life without much resistance. Will felt utterly helpless and didn’t quite know what he could do to escape his rigid presence.

“Yes… And you’re an artist?”

He did the only thing he thought could maybe give off a negative impression. Intrude just as much into this stranger’s personal space. He tried to sound uninterested and bored, didn’t want to spark another conversation that would drag on for longer than necessary. This time the only facial movement Will could make out was a slight, positive narrowing of his eyes but without a smile. They gleamed with warmth and content. This wasn’t what Will wanted but his reaction calmed him down a bit, the foreigner’s presence not feeling as crushing and oppressive anymore.

“Yes, in a way I am.”

He responded with a warmer tone and Will could feel some emotions seeping through his cold demeanor. His eyes now wandered to the empty chair opposite from Will’s.

“May I?”

Will now growled in disbelief but did so internally. He wanted to hide his emotions as best as he could. He thought that anything else would seem weak compared to the other man.

“Of course.”, he said, accepting his request with a monotonous voice. He would let all of this come to an end very soon.

The man went back to his original table and collected all of his belongings to ultimately take them with him. He placed a cup of black coffee, a sketch book, some pencils and oddly enough a scalpel on Will’s now shared table. Will raised one of his eyebrows and looked right into the stranger’s eyes, demanding a plausible answer. He felt a sudden rush of power because something as unusual and weird as this was enough to justify his direct approaches. Will gladly took a moment to indulge in this shift of control.

“It was during my teenage years that I realized that a scalpel can sharpen a pencil way more effectively than a regular sharpener.”

The writer did nothing more than nod, the sense of power slowly leaving him. He sipped on the now cold remains of his third cup of coffee and hummed absentmindedly. Half of him was caught up inside the depths of his mind again. Some dark place in his head had just dreamed up some more aesthetic and gruesome scenarios he could add to his book and his brain called for a sudden assessment of those ideas. But a sudden thought snapped him back into reality. The realization that he hadn’t even introduced himself yet. He didn’t want the situation to become even more awkward because of this lack of information.

“Oh, um… By the way,” he held out his hand in a polite manner and looked straight at the artistic intruder, “Will Graham.”

His gaze was met with an almost friendly but still reserved look and a very subtle smile.

“Hannibal Lecter. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Will.”

Hannibal took his hand and shook it once. Will’s body tensed up due to the enormous strength the other man was unintentionally putting into the gesture. He had to slightly grit his teeth together to not make a sound.

A long silence stood between the two of them, Will once again not knowing how to go on. At some point both just continued to work on their own projects. But soon curiosity got the best of Will and he looked up. He saw that Hannibal was leaning over a drawing, his arm blocking Will’s view, absorbed in his work, pencil in one hand while the other rolled the scalpel lazily back and forth on the table. It was odd to Will that the controlled and seemingly cold man suddenly looked so relaxed and distracted. Almost vulnerable.

“Hmm… Hannibal…”

He unintentionally spoke out loud as he tested how the name sounded when put in context with his antagonist. The preoccupied man before him looked up with questioning eyes and inspected Will’s face, Will himself gone under within his thoughts. He seemed almost paralyzed until the corners of his mouth began to subtly twitch and soon a light chuckle escaped his lips. Hannibal’s face showed his confusion but also how he cherished Will’s laugh. He knew it was a rare sight. Whenever he had looked at the man from afar, he mostly saw a tired face and lips that showed nothing more than a thin line.

“May I know the reason for your laughter while thinking about my name so that I can either laugh with you or be offended and leave?”

Hannibal’s voice was soft-spoken and he didn’t sound wounded by his actions.

“I-I’m sorry but I just had the idea of naming one of my characters after you. I still need a name and I do not have any good ideas today. The thing is that…,” he sighed laughingly, not knowing how to go on, “Well, so, I kind of modeled this whole character after your aesthetic. I just became very self-aware of how I, without even batting an eye, started to analyze you. Or at least saw things within you that would fit my needs. Imagined them. All for the sake of the book I’m writing. I hope you don’t mind too much…”

There was a small, amused smile that ghosted along Hannibal’s lips.

“Not at all. You’re a writer. It’s natural for you to be inspired by many different sights and experiences. Don’t look down on your gift of great imagination. It’s unique. An ability not many have. I see it as an honor. One normally wouldn’t expect to inspire others. May I ask what you’re writing about, now that a version of me is part of it all?”

“Well, yeah, sure. I write crime novels. For this one, I just started thinking about the basics. The protagonist, Ethan Harris, is a well-known profiler for the FBI. He’s in his late 20s and has had a thrilling career so far. The antagonist would be the character I designed after you. Hannibal Lecter, I can change the last name if you want, who’s a renowned serial killer. He’s in his late 40s and from…”

Will looked up from his notes and began to stare at Hannibal by mistake. He scanned every inch of his mind to find out where Hannibal might be from, his accent almost mocking Will’s intellect every time he spoke. 

“Lithuanian.”

After being lost under the waves of his thoughts for far too long the foreign voice pulled him back to the surface again. 

“Hm?”, he hummed questioningly while slowly acknowledging his surroundings.

“My accent. It’s Lithuanian.” 

Will hummed again, this time more thankful. His focus was now back onto his book. Scrap Croatia or Greece. Lithuania it is.

“Ok, so…”, he took some time to pick up from where he left the conversation, “He’s from Lithuania. He feels superior, believes his intellect is far greater than everyone else’s. He sees his victims as mere pigs, not as human beings. He has the desire to be in control. His facial expressions mirror that. The perfect poker face. He loves to toy with people and hides his true cunning self behind a masquerade of politeness and altruism. But once a specially selected victim is together with him, behind his veil, they see the storm, the monster that he truly is. He is powerful. Strong, with the vitality of a far younger man. He might seem vulnerable at times, but no matter how relaxed his body is, he will always be ready to pounce at his enemies like an animal and swiftly strike them down. And, well… That’s it. I’m of no use today, I’m sorry. I don’t know why exactly he kills. He needs a motivation that fits his aesthetic, a unique way of killing.”

Will once again felt his energy being drained from his body, his good and excited mood slowly shifting. He had a proud look in his eyes as he spoke about his creation but now everything once again faded way too quickly. He let his head rest on his fists, arms propped up on the table, sighing for what must have been the hundredth time today. 

“What exactly are you drawing right now?”, Will asked, wishing for a quick change of topic to distract himself from his own uselessness, dwelling deep inside of him.

Hannibal instantly caught on to his intention and this time it was him who chuckled.

“You, actually.”

He took his sketch book and showed Will his progress. What he saw was a three-quarter profile of his face made out of sharp lines and a great amount of detail. His eyes looked soft and sparkled and his curly hair was smooth and voluminous, unlike the tired gaze and unruly hair he wore in reality. The drawing was beautiful nonetheless and gave Will some new ideas regarding his antagonist. An artist, a perfectionist. Elevating his victims to art. Reorganizing their corpses, the blood on them resembling brushstrokes.

The author was quiet for some time, drawn to the perfectly placed strokes of graphite, so Hannibal was the first one to speak up.

“I hope you don’t find it unnatural that I’ve decided to draw you. I often draw people I randomly see outside.”

Hannibal never did. The people he drew were always carefully selected. Greek statues, people on paintings and so on. This one however would go to a particular pile he created after noticing a mesmerizing and intriguing stranger for the first time a few months ago. Someone who he now knew to be named Will Graham.

“Oh, no, no. That’s alright. I don’t mind, really. I used you for my creative purposes so it’s only right for you to use me.”

“Oh believe me, I will do that plenty. I wanted to draw more modern people anyways. I’m mostly used to sketching statues so having you as a motif will be a nice change for my art.”

With all honesty, it seemed a bit weird to Will at first but he had quickly learned that with Hannibal, weird was the ordinary. He felt a bit more at ease now and talking to Hannibal, still nearly a stranger to Will, was not as complicated as before. It actually felt easy and… normal.

In the meantime, Hannibal’s focus had returned to Will and his writer’s block. Even though the man himself wanted a distraction from it all, Hannibal still had a few ideas up his sleeves that could help the other man.

“Will, have you ever thought about killing someone? Not from the perspective of one of your characters. Only you, personally killing another human being. It might help you to better understand the motivation of your antagonist and figure out how he kills, what he feels when taking a life.”

“No, actually… I don’t think so...”, Will’s voice was nothing more than a breath, he himself puzzled that this had never happened before, given his writing genre. But maybe that was just fine. Killing someone, even only within the realm of imagination, should not be a normal thing to do, shouldn’t it?

Hannibal seemed to be intrigued, many new possibilities running through his head. He could show Will his potential, help him bring out his true nature. This man could become something akin to himself, or so the older one hoped.

“I want you to close your eyes, Will. Imagine it, taking someone’s life. What would you like to happen? It’s all in your head, everything is possible.”

By now the author was actually rolling his eyes in annoyance, feeling as if sitting in the middle of a therapy session. He didn’t believe in therapy, he knew it wouldn’t work on him. But for whatever reason he still did as he was told, closing his eyes and slipping back into the depths of his mind, guided only by Hannibal’s voice. 

Hannibal observed his every move, nothing went unnoticed, his curiosity, eagerness and impatience becoming greater by the second. What acts of brutality would unfold within the darkness that was Will Graham’s mind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it. If you have any ideas, constructive criticism etc. feel free to comment. Chapter 2 will be up soon.


	2. Pour your blood all over me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will follows Hannibal's instructions and let's his imagination run free. For someone like him this might not be such a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the first one. I also created a Spotify playlist with songs that I listen to while writing this story, so if anyone's interested go check it out: [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4CKyZn52SLAxMPNfcuIP7O?si=jW9-hDegREeytOqnSvq7qw)

The first thing Will felt was the heat of a body, pressed against his own. The first thing he saw was Hannibal’s face smiling smugly at him, challenging him to act. His expression awakened a desire inside Will that had never emerged before. At least not as strong as it was now. He suddenly ached for a chance to harm Hannibal in the worst possible ways. And it seemed as if fortune was on his side, otherwise he wouldn’t have him right where he wanted him to be, pushed between a wall and himself. But he wasn’t squirming, wasn’t trying to escape, which led to Will becoming even more restless and exasperated.  
  
Will’s hands slowly wandered to his neck and snaked around his throat. He looked up to see his opponent’s face. He was amused by all of this, the sense of superiority clearly visible within his eyes. This was all Will needed to finally start squeezing down onto the body, his nails digging into the hot flesh, drawing blood. Will’s gaze was eager, the want for a reaction unbearable. But not one single sign of pain could be seen, his tolerance for it too great. Why wasn’t he reacting?!  
  
Will continued to cut off his air supply but this only furthered the smile on Hannibal’s face. With that Will suddenly released his throat and clasped his hands around the handle of a knife. He swiftly pushed forward and sunk the blade deep into Hannibal’s torso, his brows finally furrowing, his canine teeth flashing dangerously between his lips for a moment. He used all his weight to lean in against him and felt how the warm blood quickly left Hannibal’s body, gushing down to the floor and pooling at their feet.  
  
The metallic scent clouded Will’s mind and freed him from every intrusive and distracting thought, almost like a drug. He savored the moment and rested his head on Hannibal’s chest, feeling how the steady rising and falling became slow and erratic. He gave himself up to the feeling of damp, bloody fabric against warm skin and the scary bliss of pure satisfaction.  
  
After a few unsteady breaths Will leaned back again and put his left hand on Hannibal’s neck, stroking a thumb over his Adam’s apple and gazing yearningly. He then yanked the blade free from the flesh around it and placed it against his throat, applying pressure to slightly draw even more blood. He took a second to watch how the thin red line dripped down his body before again moving his left hand, away from his neck and to the back of his head. He gripped a fistful of brown-silver hair and pulled it back, exposing more of Hannibal’s neck. The blade cut deeper, blood flowed heavier, making Will smirk lightly. He continued to slash through the flesh, tearing apart muscles and blood vessels. Once the knife had gone completely through the older man’s throat, Hannibal’s blood started gushing down onto Will’s already crimson stained body and face. He felt sanctified by it, the hot red liquid resembling a holy and never-ending downpour.  
  
Hannibal’s face was motionless by now, his mouth slightly hanging open in a feeble manner, blood all over his lips and chin. Only his eyes were still fixated on Will, an excited and playful gleam within the depths of reddish brown. He should have been dead, bled-out by Will himself, but to his dismay he wasn’t. He tried to speak, his voice hoarse and faint. Will watched how Hannibal choked on the blood inside his mouth, the smug and amused look now belonging to Will.  
  
Hannibal’s bloody hand moved towards the younger man whose body tensed up lightly at the sudden movement. He gently placed his palm on Will’s cheek, tracing his jaw and his ear’s helix with his thumb, this part of his face now having even more blood on it. He then ran the same hand slowly through his curly hair, making it adhesive to the touch, and pressed their foreheads together, his eyes never leaving Will’s.  
  
“You’re remarkable, Will. Such a bloodthirsty boy.”  
  
With these words burned inside his mind, Will’s head jolted up. He was panting, eyes wide open and clothes started to get soaked in sweat. Everything was just as always due to his vivid imagination but normally it would only be that bad while he was asleep and dreaming.  
  
Hannibal, sitting silently, a satisfied smile gracing his lips, gave Will some time to cool down, letting his brain process every bit of information he just experienced.  
  
Will still felt the utter excitement running through his veins, how his heart’s pace hadn't quickened even once as the blade had sunken deeper and deeper into the aching flesh. Will felt terrified. Within this daydream he felt alive. For the first time in ages, he actually felt alive! He was… himself. An oh so cruel and sadistic version of him, hidden deep inside, that was completely authentic and really shouldn’t be so.  
  
“Will, I want you to tell me what you just did. What did you see?”  
  
Hannibal’s voice was monotonous, his curiosity and ill intentions well hidden.  
  
“It was… intense. I killed and it felt… good.”, his voice was barely a whisper.  
  
“Who did you kill?”  
  
A moment of silence. Will looked up from his coffee mug and right into the others eyes.  
  
“You.”  
  
Hannibal smiled lightly, a reaction that didn’t go unnoticed by Will but also wasn’t commented on.  
  
“How would you do it? Right here and now. No one else around, just you and me.”  
  
Will’s eyes roamed around the room, landed briefly on Hannibal’s scalpel and then return to the others steady gaze. The sudden tension between them made Will inhale for air more often than usual, his lungs short on oxygen. This conversation had gotten very… unique.  
  
“I’d go for your scalpel, lunge at you and slice open your throat. Killing you with your own lovely little tool. But you would stop me.”  
  
“Because I’m stronger than you. You know this, you’re aware of your own weakness, that's good. How did you do it within your mind?”  
  
“I used my hands. Choked you. You didn’t react. Then I gutted you with a knife and finally slit your throat. The blade went right through your flesh. The blood felt… cleansing.”, his words were spoken with accidental adoration. It amazed him how casually he found it all to be, speaking about such gruesome acts.  
  
“You wanted to see my reaction. The effect you had on me.”  
  
“It was… intimate.”  
  
“That’s good. It deserves intimacy. You may have discovered a new part of yourself. Now, what does all that mean for your antagonist?”  
  
Will shook his head slightly, the sudden change of topic taking him aback.  
  
“Well, he… He considers himself an artist, with pencils as with blood. He’s a perfectionist. He indulges in the moment of giving humans, who didn’t deserve to live, a new meaning. Taking a life… The moment where adrenaline and excitement rush through his body.”  
  
“It’s addicting, the act of killing and creating.”  
  
“He believes he’s doing god’s work, purifying himself through his deeds. Granting his victims an even greater form of existence. He feels superior and in control. He’s a sadist, succumbing to his needs again and again.”  
  
Will’s good mood was revived, finally being able to once again allow creativity back inside his mind. But there was still an unsettling feeling in the back of his head that told him one thing: They were actually still talking about Will and his violent daydream. The discussion was there, between the lines, entertaining Hannibal. He apparently enjoyed hearing how Will wanted to forcefully and brutally subdue him and how part of him reacted to murder.  
  
Weird was the ordinary. Weird was also an understatement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole story started as a school project with three chapters in total but I've decided to continue writing. I think at the end this story will have around four to five chapter. Chapter 3 is coming soon.


End file.
